Author's notes for Peace Attendeth Him Not—

Huttah!

I finally got around to writing that darn third chapter, and it's lookin' pretty good for a sequal. This is where things start to leak, and it's also where I introduce two of my most favorite Elves--Elrohir and Elladan. Tell me what you think of them, but don't be upset if they seem a little... unorthodox.

Thanks to the people who supported this, and I promise I'll publish more soon!

"Elrohir my friend, what do you think Adar wishes to speak with us about?"

"Elladan my friend," Elrohir clapped his heavily gauntleted hand on his twin's shoulder and smirked, "what else could he possibly want with us, other than to nag at us again about going with him to the West?"

Elladan laughed and shook his head, "Ulmo save! I can hear him already," Elladan screwed up his face until he looked thoroughly constipated, thus making an eerily accurate impression of his father's visage. "'My sons, for how long shall you continue to forsake your calling as High Elves? The time has come for you to make a mature decision.' Translation —" and then he made like he was strangling some invisible person as his brother guffawed, "— 'WHEN ARE YOU GONNA STOP HANGING AROUND WITH YOUR HOODLUM DÚNEDAIN FRIENDS AND GROW UP? DON'T YOU WANNA BE A TOTAL DIPWAD LIKE ME?! ARRRRRRRRRRRGH!!!"

Elrohir would have fallen off of his horse with laughter (his keen sense of balance notwithstanding), but his eyes were fixed on a balled-up little Elf, fast asleep underneath a precariously angled slab of grayish granite. "Hey, isn't that the Fig'?"

Elladan dismounted and the two of them approached the sleeping Elf. "What's he doing out here?"

"I don't know." Elrohir kneeled by Figwit and found him to be breathing soundly. "He's just asleep, but he doesn't look well—as usual."

"Maybe Erestor finally chased him away..." Elladan's teasing demeanor ebbed when he saw the look of concern on Elrohir's face.

Elrohir shook his head and frowned as he touched Figwit's brow lightly, trying to discern the source of the young understudy's distress. "I think his angst may be legit this time, brother." He withdrew his hands and stood, his eyebrows still knit as he perused the bleak dreams and memories of Figwit. "Something has greatly disheartened and alarmed him, shaking him to the very core of his being... doing almost irreparable damage to his bearing in this world."

"What happened? Was it Erestor?"

"I do not know. I dare not delve so deep without the consent of our young friend." Elrohir's eyes narrowed as the chill wind picked up, swirling over the edge of the flat heath, and whipping into the valley of Rivendell in a downward spiral. "But I'd be a fool to think that this is not somehow his doing." He turned and headed for his horse, "Tell Dúnhere to come pick him up, and you guys take him down to Rivendell. I'll ride ahead of you and find out what I can."

Elladan looked down at Figwit, who shivered against the harsh wind, and then back at Elrohir. He managed a smirk and tapped his left temple with his finger. "Keep in touch, bro'."

Arwen sat with her father in his office, as he read a roll of parchment given to him by the emissary of some nearby village. The emissary hailed from a small town of no consequence, containing naught but a miniscule Human constituency, and had intended to negotiate the taxes paid yearly to Lord Elrond for protection.

"Father, you look troubled. What is wrong?" Indeed, something was wrong with him. He was wearing the same clothes he had on yesterday—he had fallen asleep in his office last night and had stayed that way until noon—and he looked rather disheveled. Even from across the room Arwen had smelled the alcohol working its way out of the Elf-Lord's body through his pores. When he didn't answer immediately, or even after a few minutes, Arwen gave up on him and was out the door when Elrohir came walking down the hall. "What are you doing here?"

"Nice way to greet your big bro'." he answered with a smile.

Arwen stood up on her tiptoes and gave him a hug. "I'm sorry, Elrohir, but Ada's been acting strangely, and—" she looked over his shoulder, "—where's Elladan?"

"He's with Figwit." He gently pushed himself loose from Arwen and removed his mantle as the two of them walked on, giving it to a passing servant with a quiet word of gratitude.

"Figwit? Why—"

"We found him sleeping on the moors, and we..." he dropped his voice, so that no one might overhear, "we sensed that something might be wrong." When that produced no reaction in his sister, he added, "this has much to do with Erestor, we believe."

"Erestor... I just don't understand him." What Arwen really couldn't understand was why Erestor was so nice to her when he was nasty toward everyone else. He barely even had any respect for her father, though he sometimes managed to keep a reign on his tongue around him. It was as though he thrived on chaos.

"Yeah, well try having him as your teacher."

"I did, and he wasn't so bad."

"You only say that because you didn't have so many lessons with him... on account of your being the weaker sex!"

Arwen scowled and took a lazy swing at Elrohir, and he backed away laughing. There was nothing the twins loved more than getting a rise out of their little sister.

But Elrohir abruptly stopped with his jests and stood still; listening to something that Arwen couldn't hear.

"What is it? Is he here?" Arwen looked at her brother anxiously. She knew about her brothers' gift, had known for as long as she could remember. But it still creeped her out to see them use it, to watch as their eyes went out of focus, to see that unnatural look of serenity.

"Yes, and Figwit's awake now." Elrohir sighed and ran a hand through his thick dark hair, "But he won't talk to Elladan or Dúnhere. And need I say that he refuses to be read? Whatever Erestor did to him, it was verily upsetting; he usually has no problem talking to us..."

They met Elladan and the others in the main courtyard. It was getting to be the middle of the afternoon, and there were few people about. When Arwen saw Figwit in the midst of his gloom, she initially looked down on him, as she was usually filled with supreme disdain for him. In her opinion, he was too downtrodden for her tastes, and whenever he talked to her, he always reminded her of a dog, crawling on his belly to lick his master's boots. But she felt guilty for thinking those things this time, and scolded herself for looking down on him. She had a blanket brought out to her, and she went over to where her brothers were standing with Figwit.

He looked up at her, and she saw sadness, confusion, and—shame, for some odd reason—in his eyes. He quickly looked away, as the tears fell once more.

"Figwit, here," she draped the blanket over his bowed back and spoke gently, much to his surprise—and much to the bewilderment of her brothers. "Why don't you come inside, and we'll get you something to eat. You seem so weary."

He mumbled a quiet thank-you, his face reddening slightly, and Elladan and Elrohir again exchanged incredulous looks.

Arwen! She almost jumped when she heard Elrohir's voice ring out in her head, though she saw this coming. What're you about?

Yeah, Elladan chimed in; you'd better not be acting nice so you can nose about in his business!

Arwen shot her brothers a dirty look, one that could not be paired with decent words. But all the same, she understood their accusations to be well founded. She never really cared about Figwit even though he treated her with such honor and affection, she realized with a pang of guilt. She shivered in spite of the warm sunshine, and guided Figwit into a cozy drawing room with a gentle arm around him. And she did nothing to discourage her brothers and Dúnhere from following (though the latter, it turned out, was instead heading to the Great Hall for some mead). If you're listening, O brothers, she said quietly, I shall prove to you that I'm not so black-hearted as you think!

Figwit sat down in the far end of the room, away from the fire, with his knees drawn to his chest. He wrapped himself up in the blanket and pretended to be interested in the carpet on the floor.

"Figwit, tell us what happened." Elladan marched over to Figwit before his siblings could stop him.

"Elladan, don't be so rash!" Elrohir grabbed his shoulder to try and pull him away. "He's not ready—"

Elladan, ever the more impulsive of the two brothers, brushed Elrohir's hand away and turned Figwit's head, forcing him to look at him. "If you don't then we can't help you, and then who knows what else Erestor will do to you!"

"Oh, I didn't do anything to him."

Tsuzuku...